


No Dejaré de Quererte

by SandrC



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, F/M, Gen, I only took six years and tbh i failed two of those, Meddling in the affairs of mortals, Miguel has only the best of intentions, Sorry if my spanish is shitty, Time Travel, aztec gods make an appearance, gods are fickle things, he barely has any screentime, the OC is only plot important for reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: A spread of three cards:Cinco de Copas, Caballo de Oros, Cuatro de Bastos.It would be a pity if they were ignored but...y aunque la vida me cueste, llorona, no dejaré de quererte.(Now if only one would learn from the past but...stubbornness runs in the family.)





	1. Capítulo Uno: Miguel y la Luna (un Favor y una Promesa)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Upperstories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upperstories/gifts).



> I have this planned and mostly written all the way through. Originally it was going to be four _acts_ but those acts became chapters and there we are. They're gonna be hella long but such is the sacrifice. Big shout-out to [Uppers](http://upperstories.tumblr.com) for enabling me. Fuck you. This is all your fault.
> 
> I'm a huge nerd so I've like been...very into _Coco_ recently so IDK if I'll write more than oneshots after this. I have...commitment issues...
> 
> Also, I took three years of Spanish in high school and three years in college but like...my memory is shit and I failed two of those classes so sorry if my Spanish is absolute trash.
> 
> I should mention that there is one OC but Gallo isn't a major character in terms of screentime. He's important but not _visible_ so...don't expect much from the gamberro. He's a lil shit.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :3

Miguel slammed the door behind him, chest heaving, and sank to the floor. His heart hammered against his ribs, keeping time with his frustrated _gritós_. "Stupid tourists!" His fist made contact with the doorframe and the pain was a clarity well worth it.

Miguel understood why his Papá Héctor had compared being _un músico_ to a dancing monkey. The way those strangers just came by his family's shoe shop—their _home_ —as if it were a zoo to gawk at. Frustrating beyond belief. His other hand, the one not currently throbbing in pain, was clutched around the neck of his Papá Héctor's guitar— _his_ now, though that was a thought he could hardly comprehend, even a year after the fact. His ring finger plucked a string against the bridge and a sonorous G rang out. It centered him again. He needed to stop and gather his wits.

Miguel took a deep breath. He collected himself. He sighed again.

He was in the small side-room that usually held their family's _ofrenda_ during _Dia de los Muertos_. When it wasn't in use, the large table that held all their ancestors and their beloved possessions was folded up and placed against the back wall. The pictures that showed off their pride and joy hung on the wall and a soft dusting of _cempasúchil_ petals hung in the cracks and corners of the floor. Miguel stood up and placed his hand flat against his chest. The beating of his heart was a relief.

"Papá Héctor...I don't know if you're still around but...I _hate_ this. Performing, like a circus clown, in front of a million people. _Qué triste ¿no?_ That something I once scoffed at is how I feel?" A dry laugh, singular and pained, escaped his mouth. _His_ mouth. His _lips_.

Living. _Alive_.

 _Here_.

Unlike Papá Héctor.

"I just...I want to know you're okay..." His chest ached and his hands moved to play a song but he stopped them mid-action. Music had been his respite for so long that even now, when he had the ability to play whenever he wanted, he went back to it for comfort. "I wish I could've saved you then. I wish...," his breath hitched as he throttled the neck of his guitar, "I wish you had lived longer..."

* * *

From outside the window a small hummingbird flit away, its red breast glimmering in the bright moonlight. Its wings buzzed as it raced higher and higher up, finally pausing on the rooftop of the Rivera family _Zapatería_. The wings of the hummingbird never stopped moving and, if one listened closely, they might hear a voice inquire, "You pity the boy?"

The wind that pushed the clouds across the moon whispered. "Mamá insists and I reflect her wishes."

" _La Luna_ ," the feet of the hummingbird tapped, "are you certain? Favors are not so easily revoked. _Hermana_ , you know you have freedom? _No está obligado ellá_. Is this your wish?"

The flutter of moths heading toward home replied, " _Hermanito, mi asesino precioso_ , it is my _penance_. I am bid to by my geas to _la Terra_. You know this, _¿no?_ "

The creak of the tile beneath the hummingbird's feet confirmed. " _Sí_...I'll offer your word to him. _Gracias la Luna. Muchas gracias Mamá._ " The dirt beneath the building beneath the bird sighed and it lit from its perch, a green and crimson blur dancing in the moonlight.

* * *

Miguel sat down, cross-legged, on the floor in the _ofrenda_ room. The world weighed down on him again and his hands instinctively fingered an A-major chord. Simple. Easy. _Safe_.

The notes to a song he had been working on found their way to his lips and he transitioned from humming to singing softly. " _And the bluebirds sing as the bluebirds will but the corvids are your respite for they croak and eat their fill. And the flowers grow even though they know that one day their time will come and they will return to their home._ " It was melancholy, bitter cilantro and sharp honey tones. A carrion bird is spoken to with love while a songbird is chased like a thief and vagabond. It was complex and that's how he felt.

"Sad words from a happy kid. _¿Qué tal chico?_ " Miguel whipped his head up at that. That raspy voice wasn't any he knew. And it definitely didn't belong in the walls of the Rivera family home. "I got somethin on my face or are you starstruck _chico_? I _know_ I'm pretty, but your jaw is gathering dust." In fact, it was _neither_. Miguel was staring because the person attached to that gruff voice wasn't what he was expecting but also wasn't any family of his.

The stranger was a young man, a little older than Miguel himself, with a torn denim jacket covered in patches of various sizes and shapes. His hair was a bright red done up in a long mohawk and his shoes were worn _botas soldado_. Overall his appearance brought to mind a proud _gallito_ , comb raised high and spurs at the ready.

"Y-you're trespassing, you know that, right?" Miguel stood up and tried to puff out his chest like he had seen Héctor do to De La Cruz. All it did was make the stranger laugh and jump down from their position atop one of the less...foldable tables in the small side room.

" _Chico_ , I'd suggest you don't do that again," the stranger said between breathy gasps, "because it makes you look like one of those hardass _pendejos_ down by the plaza. Chest out, dick in, that's what _las chicas_ want _¿no?_ " He laughed again, doubling over from the force of his mirth.

Miguel deflated a bit but refused to back down. "You'd better leave before I—"

"Call _tú abuelita?_ Ohh, _pobrecito, chiquito_ needs his _abuelita_ to bring down the fury on _eso hombre malo..._ " The stranger interrupted Miguel and clucked his tongue at him derisively. "What are you, like five? I thought you were tough, being the one who told the world about De La Cruz's lies but," he shrugged and wheeled about on his heels, "guess I was wrong. _Buenas noches chico!_ Hope you get to bed before _el cucuy_ gets you!"

A flush of anger darkened Miguel's cheeks. He stepped forward, left foot forward with a heavy sound, and the stranger looked back over his shoulder. "I'm _not_ afraid!"

The stranger stopped and gently turned around. " _¿Qué?_ "

" _Yeah_! I've seen worse than you!" Bravery? _No_. This was foolishness but Miguel didn't care.

" _Claro, chiquito_. You've seen worse than Gallo and _soy un Dios importantísimo_." The stranger—Gallo? What a _weird_ name!—laughed at Miguel's statement. Miguel stared down Gallo, eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd drop by to see the famous Rivera family. Pity all of them are asleep save you." Gallo examined his nails absently, stopping only once to shoot Miguel a strangely coy smirk.

"So _leave_."

" _¡Ay!_ How cruel!" Gallo clutched at his chest and mock swooned. "And here I was hoping for a crash course on the shadow behind the music. Ah well...anyway," he ran his fingers through his cockerel mohawk and winked, "you look like you need a Favor."

This gave Miguel pause. " _¿Un favor?_ "

"Capital F, _chiquito_. Favor." Gallo enunciated the word carefully, stressing the primary syllable. _Favor_. An important word.

"What do you mean by Favor?" It wasn't hard to catch Miguel's attention and Important-Sounding Capital Words was one easy way to do so.

"On nights like this, when _mi hermanita_ , _la Luna_ is full and in the sky, the Gods sometimes grant Favors." The way that Gallo moved his hands and spoke in a stage-whisper like he was revealing a fundamental law of the world was so similar to Héctor that Miguel's chest ached. He made the world his stage and _¡dios mio!_ It was tragic and nostalgic all at once. Miguel half-expected a crooked ' _chamaco_ ' to slip out mid-tale. "You gotta word it right, cuz the Gods aren't people smart, but if you ask when she's the fullest, _la Luna_ may grant you _un Favor_."

"Wh-how do you—?"

" _Dijo chiquito_ ," Gallo tapped the side of his nose and smirked, " _soy un Dios importantísimo_."

" _¡No manches!_ " But Miguel was not deterred by the seemingly impossible thing Gallo was telling him. He had _died_. Miguel himself had been to the Land of the Dead and _back_. He had seen what lay beyond this life so who was to say that the Gods aren't real?! Certainly not him!

(A small, somewhat condescending caricature of his Tía Victoria remarked _¡Vitaminas son real!_ and he stifled a giggle. Miguel was almost certain that Gallo wouldn't really appreciate his odd outburst. Still, he couldn't help but fondly remember her stern insistence that adults often _did_ know what they were talking about.)

"Not even _un poquitititito_." Gallo wheeled away on his heels and slipped out the door of the _ofrenda_ room, calling back, " _¡Ay chico! Recuérdalo_ —be specific! Meaning is well and good but _la Luna_ doesn't know your intent! _Un Favor es especial y muy precioso_. Don't waste it!" With that and a flinging of double finger guns, Gallo was gone.

Miguel didn't even bother to chase after him. He looked like _un gamberro_. Gallo probably knew the streets of Santa Cecelia better than Miguel did, and Miguel played more games of hide and seek in those streets than any other kid in his neighborhood and fled his _abuelita's_ wrath in small nooks and crannies that few were aware of. Still, a _gamberro_ would know more of the secrets of the town than any happy young boy—even if the boy harbored a deep secret he could tell no one else.

Miguel looked up at the pictures in the _ofrenda_ room and sighed, meeting gazes with the photo of his Papá Héctor. _¿Un Favor? What would I even ask for?_ Still, it was barely a second before it came back to him. Turning his face out to the window and the bright full moon, Miguel sighed deeply. Anxiety pooled in his stomach and it was all he could do to just speak without stammering.

" _All_ I want...," a long pause, fear, acrid in his gut, "...is for Papá Héctor to be okay. I _need_ to know that. I _need_ to know that my singing to Mamá Coco was in time. That he's okay. If he lived...if _he_ —"

But Miguel never finished his thought. Darkness overtook his vision, ringing in his ears and a woozy nausea gripping his chest, and he staggered. A question started to drip from his numb mouth but the words caught on his teeth and slapped wetly against the floor. As his knees made contact with the ground beneath him, Miguel felt the cold caress of moonlight against his skin and then—

— _nothing_.


	2. Capituló Dos: ¿El Pasado? (o Miguel el Chamuco)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two done and done! This one was hard because I wanted to reach a certain point and getting tot he climax was...eluding me. Per usual, if my Spanish is trash or you notice any glaring errors, please let me know so I can fix them.
> 
> Halfway done guys! I'm super excited!

The darkness faded into noise that ran through Miguel's vision like bright flashes of color and pain. He wrinkled his nose and groaned. " _¡Ay! Lo siento, abuelita. No mi intención duermo en la pieza de la ofrenda. No usa la chancla!_ " When the shuffling steps of his abuelita never came—nor the _shuffle-thwap_ of her removing her _chancla_ to smack some sense into her family—he blinked his eyes open to see why that was.

He yelped in pain. The world around him—midday apparently, but Miguel had always been a heavy sleeper—was violently bright. The white-yellow light that was bouncing off of the dusty building fronts seemed to beat itself into his skull. Right behind his eyes ached and Miguel attempted to knuckle the pain away.

The magic word here is _attempted_ , because when Miguel raised his hands to his eyes to rub away the ache, he didn't see the hands of a fourteen year old boy. Instead he saw the overlarge paws of a gangly dog, covered in dirt, and he immediately passed out.

Again the world faded from black but now Miguel was more cautious. He slowly exhaled and noted how his tongue flapped against the roof of his mouth. _Yuck_. Opening his eyes, Miguel looked down and raised his hand. _Okay_. That was a _paw_. He wasn't dreaming. He was a dog.

"Okay...this... _okay_ then." Miguel was surprised to hear his own voice emerge from his now-dog self. "I can speak. That's a note. I can _speak_ but I'm a dog. A... _dog_?" He tested out his balance, standing up on his four legs and teetering slightly while his brain attempted to reconcile all the new things it had to keep track of. " _Dog_ ," he confirmed as his toes spread to grip the ground, "I am. A _dog_."

_Not the strangest thing you've had to deal with, Miguel. You've been dead. Becoming a dog is just another life experience. ¡Cálmate! Just another day in your life._ He turned around in a circle to examine his doggy form and took a note of every detail he could find.

He was a short and squat _dogo_ with a cropped tail, big paws, and a square snout. He could see his wet pink-black nose flare—an odd sight that he was apparently going to have to get used to—and the world lit up in colors he didn't have names for, then faded until he sniffed again. His fur was stubbly and rough and what he could see was a deep black with a light brown brindle. Panting was a weird feeling but when he allowed his tongue to loll out, he felt cooler _so_...Rosa was right about dogs being unable to sweat. He owed her an apology.

Done taking in his appearance and sure of his brain's ability to regulate his new dog-functions without too much issue, Miguel shook himself off and tried to gather his thoughts.

_The last thing I remember is Gallo and asking for a Favor. What did I say? What did I—?_

The rough sound of heavy shoes hitting packed dirt jolted Miguel into a panic. The off-kilter _kata-THUD kata-THUD_ of the steps came close to wherever Miguel was hiding and his dog-brain screamed **HIDE HIDE HIDE HURT HIDE HURT HIDE!** He scrambled to shove himself in a corner—barely noting that he was no longer in his family's _ofrenda_ room—and disappear but the steps grew closer and soon he saw the owner of that syncopated gait.

Long legs, a mariachi's outfit, and a white guitar that shone with love. Boots that showed wear in the heels and on the outside sole—someone who walked on the edge of their foot and planted their heels harder than anything else—looked worn but taken care of. They weren't shiny but they were serviceable. They looked nice.

" _¡Héctor!_ Get your ass back here! I swear to Santa Maria that I'll beat your teeth in if you don't show your face _¡ahora!_ " Whomever was chasing this Héctor screamed as they dashed past the area both Miguel and the owner of these shoes—Héctor? _Héctor_!—were hiding.

In the time between the voice fading—and with it the _tiempo soldador_ of boots propelling it forward—Miguel's brain caught up to all the new information he had learned. Making sure to remain hidden, he looked up at this 'Héctor' to confirm his suspicions.

Héctor Rivera peeked out of the alleyway and smiled—crooked, bright, mischievous, and _so very alive_ —with relief. " _Adiós, idiota_. The day belongs to Héctor!" Then, as an aside, "I hope that we don't get black-listed..."

Miguel let out an excited shout, "Papá Héctor!"

Héctor started and looked down at Miguel. It struck him then that his dog-form was way smaller than he ever was when he was twelve and last saw his great-great-grandfather and he instinctively tucked his tail in and flattened his ears as fear overwhelmed him. Of _course_ , Héctor wouldn't recognize him! _This_ Héctor was alive and Miguel hadn't been born yet! Suddenly everything seemed too much for him. His whole frame shook.

" _Oye, chamaco, no me miedo_. I won't hurt you. _Cálmate...cálmate..._ " Héctor was speaking in a soft, low tone. It was similar to the wistful way he sang _Récuerdame_ when he thought he was never going to see Coco again. When he thought that both he and Miguel would perish in that _cenote_. When he was more concerned keeping Miguel calm than worrying about himself.

The low whine that Miguel hadn't realized he'd been emitting petered off and his ears perked up a bit. "Can you—?"

" _¿Entiendes?_ All good. No need to be so worried." Héctor spread his hand open wide and offered it to Miguel to inspect. While his chest ached with the realization that his 'speech' probably just sounded like barks and howls, his dog-brain snuffled at Héctor's palm.

That dogs could glean information from smell alone was _amazing_ , but as Miguel's soft nose brushed across Héctor's hand, he also picked up textures. The heel of Héctor's hand was rough, calloused from years of hard work. Callouses also were all across his fingers and his nails were roughly trimmed short. Miguel snuffled and colors bloomed to life—the same type of colors that he didn't have words for but instinctively knew what they meant. Cilantro, the sharp sting of peppers, leather polish, and the deep tones of perfume that he assumed was Mamá Imelda's. It culminated into a smell that Miguel's dog-brain registered as Héctor.

Miguel looked up at his Papá Héctor and laughed. " _¡Estás vivo!_ "

"Ay, _chamaco_ , not so loud. Señor Almiera still wants my ass on a platter." Héctor ruffled Miguel's ears affectionately and a rush of **LIKE LIKE LIKE NICE LIKE** sped through his dog-brain. Miguel wagged his tail—his whole _butt_ , really, due to the docking of his tail—and rammed his head against Héctor's knee. His dog-brain excitedly howled **PET PET LIKE NICE YES PET PET PET** but he kept himself from jumping all over his Papá Héctor's clean pants.

While his dog-brain was busy being happy because **PET NICE NOT KICK NICE PET PET** , the human part of Miguel was joyously dancing because here was his relative, alive and _well_! La Luna granted him a Favor! He could _change_ things!

Another set of feet came close—Miguel's ears perked up to catch the _ta-KAN ta-KAN_ of clipped steps—and Héctor stopped petting Miguel for a moment. **PET STOP PET WHY STOP PET WHY MAN SHOES BAD KICK BAD!** Miguel shrank back as the shoes came closer, pushing himself back into his small corner of **SAFE SAFE HIDE SAFE BAD KICK BAD SHOES KICK** but Héctor greeted the steps with a suave smile.

" _Ernesto_! Way to leave me to take the heat _mi amigo_!"

**BAD KICK BAD SHOES MAN KICK BAD HURT BAD!**

(Miguel bristled and a low growl rumbled in his chest. De La Cruz was there. _Alive_. Using his ancestor. Liar. _Murderer_. **BAD BAD BITE BAD SHOES BAD BAD!** )

Ernesto De La Cruz, alive and young, without the distinguished silver at his temples, gave his ' _amigo_ ' a winning— **FAKE BAD BITE BAD BAD BITE BAD** —smile. Posed. Perfect. _¡Pendejo!_ " _Lo siento_ Héctor, but Amelia was far too charming. She sends you this." Ernesto kissed Héctor on the cheek and Héctor swatted his shoulder.

"'Nesto! You know I'm married!" Héctor swatted De La Cruz again and the larger man— **BAD BITE BAD MAN MEAN KICK BAD BAD MAN** —rubbed his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. "Besides, now Sr. Almiera wants to skin me in your stead for running out on the bill to boot. _¡Muchas gracias amigo!_ " Héctor was being playful with the man who would murder him but Ernesto played along well.

Miguel's growls caught De La Cruz's attention and he stooped down to get a closer look at him. Miguel backed farther away and growled louder. **BAD BAD BITE BAD KICK BAD BAD!**

" _Un chamuco_? Better leave this one alone Héctor. They bite." His tone was light but Miguel still had to quell his dog-brain's urge to take his fingers off. To snap and scream. To make De La Cruz _pay_ for what he did—would do? had done?—to his Papá Héctor.

"You're being silly _amigo_. _Chamaco_ is just a little frightened _¿sí? Estás muy bueno ¿eh chamaco?_ Aren't you?" Even with Héctor's pitched voice—higher and cuter to make him feel better—Miguel couldn't relax. This man was _bad_ and no amount of good words or pets or nice smiles and music would make him hate De La Cruz any less.

De La Cruz still looked unsure. _Good_ , Miguel thought with venom and spite, _I don't want him to rest easy. I want him to worry. Murderer._

"If _you_ say so, _amigo_. I trust your judgement." De La Cruz stood up and patted Héctor on the shoulder. " _¡Ándale!_ We have a show in thirty."

" _Again_?!" Héctor, still crouched to be near Miguel, craned to look at De La Cruz. "We _just_ did one and I promised Imelda I would—"

"We've already booked this one. I'm _sorry_ Héctor, I _know_ you promised but there are supposed to be people from _las películas_ there. We could make it _big_!" Alcohol, roses, cheap soap, expensive cologne, and a smell that Miguel's dog-brain interpreted as 'mating' flooded his nose. He chuffed and sneezed, startling De La Cruz and Héctor.

" _Salud chamaco_ ," Héctor gently scritched Miguel between the ears. It seemed, for a moment, that he was going to reject De La Cruz's insistent offer but Miguel knew better. This was how it panned out the first time. Héctor just kept going until he didn't and De La Cruz _murdered_ him. "This is the _last_ one before I head back, okay? I'm not backing down; it's been a few months and I wanna see my Coco. I miss them both."

" _A ver, amigo_. Your mind is made up?" The ( **FALSE BAD FAKE KICK BAD BITE BAD** ) concern in De La Cruz's voice rings out but Héctor is resolute.

"It's been that way for a _long_ time, Ernesto. I'm _tired_. I just want to go home." Miguel flattened against his great-great grandfather and whined. His whining didn't abate when Héctor's hand continued to gently pet his head either. Miguel wished he had a different way to communicate but, alas, he was a dog.

" _Bien_. I can see that you really miss your family." The weight of that word wasn't lost on Miguel, whose hackles raised at De La Cruz's tone. "One last show before you head home then."

"One last show." Héctor clasped De La Cruz's outstretched hand and allowed the larger man to help him to his feet. His guitar was still in his grasp, his other hand clutching the bridge like a lifeline. "Maybe you'll even get picked up for movies, _eh_? You have the face for them!"

" _¡Muy guapo!_ " De La Cruz affirmed with a cocky grin.

"I was thinking more _grande_ than _guapo_ but...," Héctor made a vague gesture indicating the size of De La Cruz's forehead and chin, laughing when De La Cruz socked him in the shoulder, " _¡ay!_ Watch where you put those! I'm fragile!"

"You've had worse from Imelda, Héctor. Don't lie."

"And that's _my_ business." Héctor looked back to Miguel and smiled. The crooked glint of his teeth in the midday was a small comfort. " _¡Adiós chamaco!_ Don't go stealing from Sr. Almiera, okay? He's had enough for one day."

" _Don't go!_ " Miguel called. Héctor laughed.

"I understand but the road is no place for _un buen perro como tú_. Just stay out of trouble and don't go biting strangers!" He turned back to De La Cruz and whistled. "Let's get going so I can see my family."

"And the scouts."

"Them too."

Their forms retreated into the horizon as Miguel sank down on his haunches and groaned. "How am I supposed to stop De La Cruz when I can't even talk to Papá Héctor?! This is the moment, the _exact_ time when he tries to poison him, and I can't even follow them!"

Miguel sighed and the world lit up in those colors he had no name for. The soft scent of Héctor wafted around him in bright tones without labels. He had an idea. He took a deep whiff and tried to locate the one that was his Papá Héctor. "There." It was a brilliant trail of cilantro and peppers and shoe polish and Mamá Imelda's perfume. It was _family_.

"I'm gonna save you, I promise." Miguel started on the trail, ears forward with dogged determination. "I won't waste this Favor. I swear on it."

* * *

Miguel found that Mexico City—even in the 20's—was a labyrinth to navigate. Twisting and turning passages, billions of alleyways that became dead ends, people who tried to kick him even as he tried to slink past them with his tail tucked. De La Cruz said he was a _chamuco_ and _chamuco_ were fighting dogs so Miguel didn't blame them too much (His dog-brain wasn't pleased in the slightest, however, and Miguel had to wrestle himself to not snap and growl at them.)

The trail went this way and that and sometimes it even crossed over itself but the clearer it was, the brighter the colors. Being a dog was an experience _for sure_! Following the brighter and lighter paths, making note of every time he came across his own strange scent— _chorizo_ , wet dog, a musky cologne that his Papá wore, and the sharpest twinge of citrus—as a place where he'd already passed by. Time was... _weird_ for Miguel. Apparently dogs perceived time at a slowed pace because he could swear he'd been searching for days but the sun had barely passed high noon when he found the run-down motel that his Papá Héctor and his would-be murderer were staying in.

It reeked of cigars and mating. Cockroaches skittered here and there and Miguel had to actively fight his dog-instinct to **CHASE CATCH YES CHASE EAT CRUNCH YES YES**. In the back, penned off by a rusting cast-iron fence, was a small pool with more dead things in the tepid water than people. Mosquitos swarmed the air in thick clouds of gross. Miguel accidentally inhaled one and sneezed loudly when its wings fluttered inside his nose.

Pinning down exactly which room was Héctor's took a lot of work—even with his enhanced sense of smell. The whole motel smelled the same so trying to separate 'Héctor' from 'hovel' was the same as trying to un-tie a shoe that his _primos_ Manny and Benny had played with. It required focus and clarity.

_Neither_ of which were things that Miguel possessed.

His stomach complained loudly. "Oh right...I don't think I've eaten, have I?" It snarled in affirmation. "Well...I can't be too picky. I _am_ a dog after all." He took a back seat to his dog-brain and bounded after the smell of tortillas and meat and savory sweet chili. He barely noticed the large man stepping behind him as he dug into the garbage to root out the food.

Mouth full of chili—and minimal bits of trash that Miguel didn't want to think too much about—someone grabbed ahold of Miguel by the scruff and lifted him up high. **BAD BAD HIDE BAD BITE BAD!** His dog-brain wailed as Miguel tried to get a finger on what was happening and who had him in their grip.

"Put me _down_!" Miguel snarled, his body curling in on himself as he dangled above the ground.

"Hey, _chamaco_ , chill out," the man holding him said. The voice was calming and the gentle smell of shoe polish, cilantro, peppers, and perfume alerted Miguel that he was safe. Héctor smiled apologetically at Miguel, adjusting his hold on the dog so that he was cradling him instead of hoisting him by the scruff. "Sorry for scaring you but you can't be in the trash like that. The owner of this place doesn't like animals and I kinda _like_ you. You got spirit."

" _¡Por Dios!_ Thought I was gonna die!" Miguel barked, his dog-brain taking time to shower Héctor with slobbery kisses of **LIKE LIKE GOOD LIKE PET GOOD PET FOOD GOOD!**

" _Sí, sí_ , I'm sure you're relieved to see me, _eh_?" Miguel yipped once for affirmation but Héctor pressed his brow against Miguel's and hissed, " _¡Callaté!_ "

_Oh, right, dog. Idiota._ Miguel clammed up, still panting and slobbery and happy to see his Papá Héctor.

" _Bien_. Now, I'm gonna put you down for _un segundo_ so stay. _Stay_." Héctor repeated with a flat-palmed gesture. If Miguel could have, he would've rolled his eyes at the farcical nature of this exchange. He'd taught Dante the same tricks the same way. Did Héctor think he was dumb?

_Well, I am a dog so...that's a fair way to handle things._ Miguel huffed impatiently but remained put. He _needed_ to find a way to stop the murder of his great great grandfather. If that meant that he had to endure some embarrassment, so be it. He would live.

(And, hopefully, so would Héctor.)

Speaking of, his great-great-grandfather had sprinted to a room and thrown the door wide open. Double-checking inside, he gave a sharp whistle—which caused Miguel to flinch at the volume, still unused to a dog's hearing—and beckoned Miguel. " _¡Ándale!_ "

He bounded forward into the room and Héctor closed the door behind them. Remembering that he was a dog, Miguel didn't leap on to the bed, instead choosing to sit patiently on the floor. Héctor, smiling giddily, knelt down and ruffled his ears. " _Bueno, chamaco. Muy bueno!_ "

Miguel started to reply, catching himself at the last minute. _Right_ , _the innkeeper doesn't like animals and I'm an animal._ Instead he just allowed himself to physically express his joy through full-body wiggles and a dopey smile. Héctor stood up and stroked his goatee.

" _Now_ ," he hummed, "I think I have some _cecina_ tucked away here somewhere." He pulled open a dresser drawer and shuffled through it. "'Nesto is strict about food budgeting—even though he flirts his way into and out of every _restaurante_ —so I have to keep _tentempiés_ on hand. _Cecina_ is easiest, naturally, but sometimes I can get _frutas o pan tostadas._ The fruit goes bad first but it's worth it." Héctor sighed and stopped rummaging through his clothes. His posture changed a bit, tilting to the side and almost folding in on himself. " _Ayy chamaco_ , I miss Imelda. I'm homesick, yeah? Imelda, _mi esposa_ , and Coco, _preciosa pequeña_ Coco...I'm going to go home and see them. I _need_ to."

Miguel stepped up to Héctor and headbutted him. He had to be _quiet_ , sure, but his memories of comfort from Dante were an easy place to pull from. His ears stood up—as much as they could, being bent and floppy—but his tail was still as his dog-brain whined **SAD SAD GOOD SAD NO STOP SAD HAPPY YES YES**.

Héctor huffed and scratched that spot right under Miguel's jawline that felt _so good_. "You probably don't want to hear this, huh _chamaco_? Me moan on about my problems? _¡Qué triste!_ But you've gotta be hungry, _¿sí?_ " Miguel's butt wriggled happily. Héctor chuckled, "I know I have some _cecina_ somewhere but if you want to help that would be appreciated."

Miguel snuffled in affirmation, earning a giggle from his great-great-grandfather. Determined to find food, he used his new smelling skills to try and find something to eat. Parsing through the motel smell and the Héctor smell and the Miguel smell, he managed to identify and isolate the savory scent of meat. Dog-brain taking precedent, he bounced around with sheer joy. **FOOD FOOD YES FOOD YES GOOD YES!**

"Find something?" Miguel wriggled happily in front of the nightstand that smelled of meat. Héctor slid the drawer open and— _ohhh_! He pulled a large strip of _cecina_ from the drawer and offered it to Miguel. " _¡Buen provecho!_ " Miguel snapped it out of his hand—gently, so as to not bite Héctor—and tore into it with wild abandon.

If the chili from the trashcan tasted good, the _cecina_ was heavenly. Amazing. _Wonderful_. The _best_ damn thing Miguel had ever had in at _least_ twenty-four hours.

Héctor laughed as Miguel slobbered all over his hand while he ate. "You _were_ hungry!"

**YES FOOD YES YES FOOD YES GOOD YES!** Miguel let his dog-brain take hold while he plotted on how to keep De La Cruz from killing Héctor.

_If I can get Papá Héctor to leave, De La Cruz won't have the chance to poison him. I just have to figure out how to do that. I can't just tell him, he won't hear my words. I can't drag him away because he has...honor. He promised to do one last show. One more._ Miguel sighed heavily. _So how do I do this?_

"You know, I think that I made a mistake coming here with Ernesto," Héctor admitted. His hand idly rubbed Miguel's ears as he spoke. "I miss Imelda and Coco, yeah, but also I miss Santa Cecilia. It's my home. I miss the people there and the atmosphere. I miss Sra. Marta's _huevos rancheros_. I miss Sr. Mateo's loud, drunken singing. I even miss Imelda's brothers, Óscar and Filipe." Miguel nuzzled deeper into Héctor's embrace. "They're odd, but they have a lot of love in them. Imelda said that they went to a big _universidad_ to study _la ley_ but, honestly? I don't see that working for them. They're too creative and the law is too rigid for them to enjoy fully but I'm proud of them regardless." Héctor stopped for a second to gently rub his wedding band. "But Ernesto?"

Miguel shifted and pressed his forehead against Héctor's chest. _Forget him_ , he tried to project with his thoughts, _and go home. Coco and Mamá Imelda need you. You need them. Go home._

"I've known 'Nesto since we were both _niños_. He's only older than me by a few years but...when my papá died he was there for me." Héctor sighed heavily. "So when he asked me to play with him...I _couldn't_ say no. He was my best man at my wedding and he's my best friend but...family comes first?"

_Yes!_ Miguel wanted to howl and bounce about and smother Héctor with doggy kisses. _Family comes first!_

"So...one more show and _then_ I go home. One more show and I can see my girls again." Héctor smiled and Miguel could smell the sorrow and exhaustion rolling off him. "One more and I'm _done_."

They sat there for a while, Miguel in Héctor's lap, just silently enjoying each other's presence. Miguel found that the feel of Héctor's beating heart was far more comforting than even the dulcet tones of his singing. It was a metronome that he could compose to. It was all he needed. Héctor's breathing evened out and soon he was dozing off. Comforting and calm.

Miguel had never been more happy in his life.

And he had never felt more safe.

* * *

The thudding of shoes jolted both Riveras awake. Miguel yelped and skittered under the hotel bed, dog-brain screaming **BAD SHOES BAD BAD KICK BAD HIDE BAD BAD!** Héctor mumbled a bit and snorted as his brain attempted to jumpstart his cognizance.

_Ta-KAN ta-KAN_ went the shoes and a rapid tapping echoed through the room. " _¿Estás despierto?_ " Miguel's hackles rose and it took all of his will to not growl.

"Ernesto?" Héctor groggily blinked and knuckled away a gobbet of drool from the corner of his mouth. " _Sí. Un momento por favor_. I dozed off."

The fake joviality in De La Cruz's reply made Miguel want to rip and tear the awful _hijo de puta_ to pieces. "Take your time _amigo_. The show isn't for another few hours."

Héctor stumbled to the door, a tangle of limbs and feet, and opened it. De La Cruz was standing on the other side of the door, wry smirk set, and a bottle of tequila in hand. "Tequila? For _me_? _¡Muchas gracias!_ " Héctor sighed and invited De La Cruz in.

_Ta-KAN ta-KAN ta-KAN_! Each heel-click made Miguel shrink in on himself. His dog-brain kept wailing **BAD KICK BAD SHOES KICK MAN BAD BAD KICK** while he was fighting every urge to lock his jaw around De La Cruz's ankle and never let go. _Don't move,_ he told himself. _Don't move, don't speak, don't even breathe. Wait and your opportunity will come. Be patient, Miguel. He'll get his soon enough._

"Nervous?" Glass tapped against wood and the sound of two shot glasses hitting each other rang true.

"A bit _¿y tú?_ " Miguel saw Héctor's legs slacken as the bed above him creaked.

A dry laugh. No humor. _¡Pendejo!_ "Nah. I'm _always_ ready for any possibility. Besides," liquid being poured, Miguel's hackles rose more and he tensed like a coiled spring, "I know we'll do great. We always do."

Silence for a moment. Miguel wondered if De La Cruz had preemptively poisoned Héctor. If his presence here had changed things without him realizing it. Then Héctor shifted and swallowed a shot. "I appreciate the confidence, _amigo_."

"I'm chock-full of it." De La Cruz knocked back his shot too. Héctor stood up and groaned.

" _¡Ay!_ I can't wait until I can sleep in my own bed." He chuckled. "My back is _killing_ me." Even though it was a joke, Miguel couldn't help the whine that slipped out at the thought of Héctor dying.

" _¿Qué es eso?_ " De La Cruz shifted, his shoes gripping the cheap wooden hotel floor.

" _Hm_?" The nerves lining Héctor's voice caused Miguel to back farther to the wall. His heart hammered aggressively and he wanted to disappear.

( **BAD BAD KICK BAD SHOES HIDE BAD!** )

"I heard something." Even from his position under the bed, Miguel could see De La Cruz stand up. "An animal?"

"You're hearing things." De La Cruz moved closer.

( **HIDE HIDE BAD SHOES KICK BAD HIDE!** )

"No," De La Cruz drew the word out like he was unsheathing a blade. "I'm certain I heard something."

( **NO BAD HIDE BAD NO KICK BAD SHOES HIDE!** )

If he had any hope of disguising his whining, it was long gone when De La Cruz drew closer. Loud and high-pitched, Miguel's dog-brain was instinctively crying out and not even Héctor's deflections would save him. **BAD BAD RUN BAD HIDE BAD SHOES KICK RUN HIDE!**

De La Cruz knelt down and locked eyes with Miguel. His brows pinched. "The _chamuco_ , Héctor? _Really_?!"

"He was _hungry_!" Héctor's excuse fell flat but he continued regardless. "I couldn't let him starve! _¡Míralo 'Nesto!_ He's skin and bones."

De La Cruz reached under the bed and snagged Miguel by his scruff. His whining turned to a growl and he dug his claws into the wood floor.

"Hey hey _hey hey hey!_ " Héctor's words slurred together as he rapidly snapped his fingers to get De La Cruz's attention. "Don't! You're _scaring_ him!"

De La Cruz didn't let up, though. He continued to try and drag Miguel out. Now both his dog-brain and his own nature were in agreement: _no_. This was _not_ going to happen. _Fuck_ this. He snapped at De La Cruz and spittle flew everywhere while he dug in harder and tensed up. Being a _chamuco_ , Miguel was mostly a dense coil of muscles and that came in handy. De La Cruz struggled with removing him from his hiding place.

"Ernesto! _Stop_ it!" Héctor sounded worried now. Miguel's heart swelled with love and that was enough to cause his attention to falter. He slid out from under the bed and was hoisted in the air.

De La Cruz was panting; his perfect hair was slicked with sweat and small flyaways fluffed out. Gritting his teeth, he stood up and extended the hand that gripped Miguel towards Héctor. Miguel yelped and screamed, deep growls that had gone from afraid to angry. His legs flailed about and he was slavering and huffing.

"Héctor," De La Cruz said between heavy breaths, " _why_ do you do this?"

"Put him _down_ , Ernesto," Héctor placated, hands extended in a pacifying gesture.

" _Honestly_ ," De La Cruz continued, ignoring Héctor's plea, "you're too soft-hearted."

_Enough. Enough!_ Miguel's hind leg made contact with De La Cruz's sternum and knocked the wind out of him. Swearing, De La Cruz dropped Miguel and gasped for air.

Miguel scrabbled about until he was on all fours again and snarled. De La Cruz, his expression the same as when he attempted to throw him to his Final Death in the Land of the Dead, kicked Miguel square in the ribs.

Miguel tasted copper.

De La Cruz kicked again.

The give of the shoe beneath De La Cruz's metal-tipped boots was enough that he could feel the man's toes. Cheap leather, poor quality, all shine, and no strength. More copper flooded Miguel's mouth and he unconsciously yelped.

_Again_.

This felt like a victory of sorts. Even if Miguel was hurting, Héctor could see how De La Cruz _really_ was. The ringing in his ears muffled the world around him but he swore he could hear Héctor shouting.

Another boot to the ribs. And _another_. Each more vicious than the last.

_If I die here, will I wake in my own time? Or will I wake in the Land of the Dead?_ The world spun and faded. Breathing hurt. He still felt content.

" _¡Cabrón!_ You can't do that to animals! He was scared! What's _wrong_ with you?!" Was that his Papá Héctor? He wasn't sure.

" _¡Me duelas!_ " Blackness and spinning. Dying was _peaceful_? _Painful_ but peaceful. How odd.

"Get out! Fucking leave!"

" _Héctor_ —!"

"No, get _out_! Before I call _la policía! ¡Ahora!_ "

The world swam. Miguel wondered if he did what he needed to. _Did I waste my Favor? Am I good, la Luna?_

"But—!"

" _¡Fuera!_ " An echoing slam cut through the bells and whine of pain. Miguel tried to breathe but his chest clenched in protest. He felt a gentle grasp lift him like a small child.

"Papá Héctor?" Miguel gasped. He could feel the metronome of a heartbeat, faint and mixing with his own drumming pain, and the low rumble of a voice soothing him. " _Lo siento_...I...I messed up..."

" _Shh_...don't worry, _chamaco_..." The calm sound of his great-great-grandfather speaking rose and vibrated against Miguel's pained sternum. "I have you. You're safe."

"Papá Héctor...," Miguel whined. "I'm..."

" _Shh_...," Héctor repeated. " _Shh_..."

And again, the world faded to a spotty black but this time Miguel wasn't scared.

His Papá Héctor had him. He was _safe_.


End file.
